


Crossing Hearts

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evil lurks in the hearts of men, sometimes in the paths of the men from UNCLE.  Written for the QuoteMe Challenge at Section VII on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing Hearts

    

_**The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men**_ _ **alone are quite capable of every wickedness.**_

_**Joseph Conrad**_

:~~~~~:~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:

  
  
“Is he dead?” Napoleon Solo stood back and watched as his partner checked the body for a pulse.  He already knew Illya wouldn’t find one, but they went through the charade of hoping.  Illya shook his head; that quick, impossibly succinct motion that was uniquely his.  The Russian stood, a sigh almost as indistinguishable as the negative sign to Solo that the man was another statistic in the continuing roll call of victims.  
  
“That makes five.  Do you think they’ll consider this the work of a serial killer now?  It’s an international trail of victims and we seem to be the only ones following the monster who’s doing this.”  Napoleon was incensed at the slow response, the lack of support in the law enforcement community.  People were afraid to say what he and Kuryakin now knew without a doubt: the killer was a well known celebrity of sorts, a public figure with a heritage steeped in his country’s nobility.  It was going to be nearly impossible to prove anything, much less bring him in with diplomatic immunity and global popularity standing in the way.  
  
Illya took a step back so that he could lean against the wall.  They were both tired from too many miles and not enough sleep.  No one had wanted to believe that the prince of a small but valuable country could be responsible for something like this, but the man was a psychopath, a sociopath and any other kind of path that meant he was certifiable and dangerous.  
  
“His face is regularly in the news, he gives money and time to popular causes …’ Illya paused, the conversation was old and stale from too many repetitions of the same facts.  “We will be seen as villains for even suggesting what we know is true.”  He looked at his weary friend, each of them frustrated by the lack of support in their lone effort to bring in the evil perpetrator of these murders.  
  
This newest victim was Luther Remming, son of a wealthy family that gave to their community and supported its members with charitable acts and by maintaining a vital business.  Finding him like this, the body still warm, meant that the killer was not far away. Unfortunately he would be safe within his embassy, untouchable without proof of his crime.  
  
“What is his motive for these killings, Illya?  What is the common link that we’ve somehow missed?”  Solo would grieve later, right now he had a mystery to solve and a killer to apprehend and … bring to justice.  One way or another.  Illya called in the discovery of this latest victim, letting Headquarters summon the local authorities.  Finding the body had been a fluke, the result of a random clue as to the whereabouts of their suspect.  He was always one step ahead of them, had been for the last two months.  Their man was on a a mission of some sort, crossing the Atlantic and now back again to Europe.  Scotland Yard would take up the search now.  
  
 After the police had come and gone, the two agents returned to their hotel room, aware that the trail of the killer was leading them nowhere in particular.  A good night’s sleep seemed the best choice at day’s end.  Napoleon couldn’t help musing over the puzzle of how their man was choosing his victims.   Each of the victims had been fairly prominent, well to do and well liked generally.  All of them were married men, something that initially had caused nothing more than compassion to emerge in light of the sorrow being experienced by their widows.  Now, as the two men were supposed to be drifting off to a well deserved sleep, Solo shot out of bed, turning on the light and waking the blond from his slumber.  
  
“What is it, Napoleon?”  Illya was irritable when awakened, especially with a light shining in his eyes.  “Who was the first victim?”  Illya was beyond irritated now, and dumbfounded as well.  “You know very well who the first victim was.  What… Have you thought of something useful?”  The question was tinged with a threat should the answer be ‘no’.  
  
Napoleon nodded his head, a slight smile curving into his features.  They were going to get this guy, and hopefully before he could strike again.  
“Yes, my Russian friend, I believe I have something.’  Illya was all ears now, welcoming a resolution to the carnage they were following.   
  
“First victim: Edward Woodcock, married to Sylvia Hazelip.  She was a model before she married Woodcock, very popular in Europe and a regular on the Paris runways.  
“Second victim was Anthony Ridell, who was the husband of Nancy Basham, also a model; a cover girl and also runway regular…”  Illya was following it now.  
“Also in Paris.  I remember her from my time there, the girls all knew her name.”  Napoleon was becoming more animated as he continued with the list.  
“Number three was Virgil Dunham, husband of Marjorie McLeod, another runway model.  And the fourth victim…’ Illya chimed in now, the obvious pattern slapping him in the face with a vengeance.  
“Wallace Morris, married to Lucy Price.  She was also a model with a career in Paris.  The wives were all successful model in Paris between 1950 and …’ Kuryakin calculated the years, certain that the time element was important in supporting what would become their primary piece of evidence. “1958.  That is the time frame, those eight years.  I believe we will find that our man was in Paris during those years and knew each of the women.’’  
  
Napoleon was saddened to think that each of these men had been murdered in retribution by a spurned lover; that the widows would have to live with the knowledge that they were the cause of their husbands’ deaths.  He also kicked himself mentally for not catching this sooner.   
“Okay, we need dates on when he was in Paris, his relationships with these women…’’  Illya intercepted the thought.  “Or his pursuit of them.  I think it possible that he never actually dated one or more of them, merely lurked in the shadows and hoped.  This man is punishing the women who turned him away by taking from them the men they love.”  It was a sobering thought, that envy could produce such evil.  
  
Wilhelm Reichardt was a diplomat, well regarded by many and powerful enough to demand the highest level of personal security.  He had chosen his career carefully, calling on his family’s history to build his own image as a keeper of the public trust and faithful in the pursuit of justice and equanimity for those less fortunate.  The ruse had worked, and also afforded Reichardt the opportunity to travel extensively, ducking in and out of cities with ease as he carried out his personal vendetta against the women who had spurned his affections and refused to submit to the demands of his deranged sense of self-importance.  
  
Napoleon and Illya spent the night with communicators open, conversations flowing back and forth to their headquarters as information was compiled on the years between 1950 and 1958.  It was imperative to place Reichardt in Paris, and to have proof that he knew each of these women.   
As day broke through the mists of early morning rain, the evidence against Reichardt was airtight.  He had been in each city on the days of each murder; his affiliation with the wives of each man was documented with photographs and newspaper articles citing events to which he had escorted them as dates.  Reichardt loved being in the public eye, and that conceit would now be the basis for his conviction.  It was glaringly obvious that he was the man responsible for the five murders.  
  
UNCLE, although a law enforcement agency, had no jurisdiction to bring in the killer.  All of the information was given to Interpol, concise and without a thread of doubt as to the guilt of Wilhelm Reichardt.  Interpol was able to intercept the cagey diplomat as he returned to his home, the proof of his guilt forcing his own government to abandon diplomatic immunity.   
  
Forty-eight hours later found Alexander Waverly at his desk, Kuryakin and Solo facing the chief of UNCLE Northwest with solemn expressions.  Although they were glad to have solved the case, the knowledge of five women left in the grief of their loss was a sobering element of this tragic story.  One man’s narcissistic nature had compelled him to commit murder in his rage against the women who had rejected him.  One man and five widows would bear the pain of his actions, and only one of them deserved that fate.  
  
“Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin … ahemm… This has been a tragic trail of events, and I know that it has moved you both with pity for the victims and their families.  My own interest in this, as you know, was keen.  I have suspected Heir Reichardt for some time of spurious behavior, and when his name came up as a suspect it seemed in the interests of UNCLE to put an end to his activity.  You will not be surprised to learn that he has been associated with several members of THRUSH for the past ten years; kept it very hush hush, of course, but there it is nonetheless.’  
  
“You did your jobs well, gentlemen.  We all regret the loss of life, of course, but you solved it and have brought a villain to justice.  His evil will not continue.  Be glad of that, young men, be very glad of that.”  
  
Little more was said as the partners were dismissed to write more reports and consider the events of the past several months.  Each man wondered once again about the capacity for evil in the human heart.  
  
They would wonder about it in the days and years to come, endlessly.  


Tags: [gen](http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/tag/gen), [glennagirl](http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/tag/glennagirl), [mfu](http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/tag/mfu), [quoteme](http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/tag/quoteme)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Search section7mfu for more stories.


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